


Fear and Delight

by Bisexualgreenbean, BlessedMasochist



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU-Moved Comic Crane to Gotham, Bisexual Edward Nygma, Eddie was his student, Edward likes being threatened with knives, I like this better, It will be interesting to see how Jon reacts to another villain, Jonathan mentors Edward, Jonathan uses people's mental health for his own benefit, M/M, More tags to come as story develops, Scriddler, Southern Jonathan Crane, Trans Oswald Cobblepot, mentions of torture, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bisexualgreenbean/pseuds/Bisexualgreenbean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedMasochist/pseuds/BlessedMasochist
Summary: News of Doctor Crane's dismissal had reached Edward like a ton of bricks. The psychologist had been his favorite professor at Gotham University and had nearly turned him from forensic science to the finicky and ephemeral world of psychology. To hear such a brilliant man had been fired was unthinkable to Edward. After a week he summoned the courage to give the man a call.A story about what if Jonathan Crane mentors Edward Nygma in the ways of crime instead of Oswald Cobblepot.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma
Comments: 26
Kudos: 56





	1. Chaper 1

News of Doctor Crane's dismissal had reached Edward like a ton of bricks. The psychologist had been his favorite professor at Gotham University and had nearly turned him from forensic science to the finicky and ephemeral world of psychology. To hear such a brilliant man had been fired was unthinkable to Edward. After a week he summoned the courage to give the man a call.

His voice had trembled and he was certain his former mentor could hear the fear of rejection in his tone. He had always been uncannily good at calling his pupils' fears out. He asked him for coffee the following week, but when the day came he was nearly shaking approaching the cafe. 

If Jonathan Crane were honest with himself, his dismissal wasn’t entirely unexpected. His pedagogy was more hands-on than most and sometimes he put the thrill of experimentation before student comfort. Take “the psychology of the gun” for example. The incident twisted Crane’s “that quirky, slightly-off, but generally enjoyable professor” reputation into “a reckless academic with zero regard for student safety”, as quoted on his dismissal notice. 

Which is why his former student’s call was unexpected. Although, with the little he remembered about his plethora of former students, he recalled feeling a kinship with Edward Nygma. Maybe it was because he seemed genuinely fascinated by his lectures. Or Crane understood what the mind does to an outcast similar to himself.

Jonathan arrived early at the cafe, as he enjoyed his alone time nursing his black coffee. He picked an empty two-person table in the back of the store for a bit more privacy. He noticed Edward Nygma arriving through the doors of the cafe, raising a hand to gesture him over.

Dr. Crane had picked a small secluded spot in the corner of the cafe, denoted only by the elegant and silent raise of his hand. Edward smiled and approached, removing his jacket to hang it on the back of the chair. “Dr. Crane, it is good to see you again.” 

“Likewise, Edward.” Jonathan gave the younger man a small smile. “I wish it were under better circumstances, however. Please, take a seat. Tell me what you’ve been up to since graduating.” 

He licked his lips and adjusted his glasses before launching into his job at the GCPD, his investigatory work for the detectives, his continual fight with the precinct's M.E. "I solve more cases than that idiot by fixing his slipshod autopsies. He never _looks_ at the victims. Never puts the puzzle fully together!" 

_Geeze this kid can talk._ Jonathan sighed internally, physically nodding his head at Edward’s stories. He had to admit, the kid was intelligent and from Edward’s passionate chatter that intelligence was being taken for granted. “Well, you could look for work elsewhere. Or, you could always assert yourself. Show them your better suited for the position.” 

He seemed to deflate at Jonathan's suggestions, tall shoulders slumping as he looked down at his tea. "It's not as easy as you make it sound, sir."

“Oh?” Jonathan cocked his head. “And why is that? Is there something you’re afraid of?” He really did try to not psychoanalyze his students but years of work had made reading people come naturally. 

He sighed softly, taking a sip of his tea. "I'm not _afraid_ ," he murmured. "I dislike confrontation, and the uniformed officers have a habit of making my life miserable when they remember my existence. If I make waves it's only a matter of time before I end up with my head in a toilet."

“ _Afraid_ of confrontation. That’s the reason you dislike it.” Jon took a sip of his coffee, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Police and their superiority complex. If only there was a way to make them afraid of you. They deserve to be knocked down from their pedestal. You’re smarter than them.” 

"Unfortunately, Dr. Crane, I'm not exactly intimidating." Though the other man's words filled him with the warmth of validation, he couldn't help but feel his situation at the GCPD was hopeless 

“Shame.” Jon’s mind went to his basement, his experiments. “I’m sure a man like you could be intimidating under the right circumstances. You’re too smart to be taken for granted.” 

"You're being incredibly complimentary, Dr. Crane," he replied softly. "No interesting conversationalists outside of academia?" 

“I don’t get out much. Most of my colleagues are- or were from Gotham University.” Jonathan laughed darkly. “I’m not one to throw compliments lightly. I just recognize your potential, Edward.” 

"How...how are you doing, by the way? I...I had heard about your dismissal," he said quietly, ignoring Jonathan's now obvious ploy to not talk about himself.

Jonathan stared at Edward. “I’m alright, actually. Burying myself with my personal work.” He folded his hands in front of him on the table. “The school just didn’t approve of my more...radical teaching methods.” 

Edward leaned forward with interest. "Would that be the same radical methods that put two grad students in the hospital during one of your studies?" he asked with a grin, remembering a time during his undergrad when Dr. Crane had invited several grad students into a study and two dropped out, mentally compromised. The matter had been cleared up in Dr. Crane's favour that time and Edward was very curious as to what finally set the Dean and Board off enough to cancel the Doctor's tenure and fire him. 

“Similar, yes.” Edward’s response peaked his interest. It wasn’t something he enjoyed talking about with most people, but Edward seemed to understand things that most folks didn’t. He sighed. “Let’s just say Gotham University is very strict about it’s no guns policy, even if it facilitates learning.” 

Edward laughed, eyes wide. "Dr. Crane why did you bring a gun into your lecture?!"

“As an example. What better way to illustrate the psychology of fear than firsthand experience?” Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “I may...have shot a student.” 

"May have?" he asked with a raised brow. "Dr. Crane, I doubt anyone of your genius would be anything less than a perfect shot~"

Jonathan frowned, crossing his arms. “I shot him. It wasn’t my best moment, but yes, unfortunately I have an excellent shot.” 

Edward grinned, eyes alight with mirth. "That's unfortunate, sir. Sometimes I really do miss academia. At least the people you worked with knew how to have a conversation."

“Well, to an extent. They weren’t the best listeners when I tried to explain myself.” He rolled his eyes, recalling how the board barely let him get a word in after the incident. “At least your boys in blue are allowed to bend their own rules. Or get away with bending them, at least.” 

"Yes," he replied dryly. "What's the point of being a cop if you can't use the badge for personal gain?" He rolled his eyes. "At least your… incident had a scientific and educational purpose. I don't think half the idiots I work with could spell 'scientific'." He took a breath, dark lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks as he seemed to struggle to get back in control of his anger. His body was rigid, shoulders tense before letting out a long slow breath. When he opened his eyes again they were clear empty of the malice that had filled them a moment ago. 

Jonathan studied the pause, remaining straight faced despite the thrill of seeing Ed’s anger momentarily brim. “I understand your hatred towards them. As I said, you can always do something about it. Emotions are meant to be expressed, meant to be acted upon.” 

The last time Edward had acted on a strong emotion certainly had been life changing. For him and his father. He smiled bitterly. "I've never been good friends with my emotions, doctor."

Jonathan smiled in return. “No one truly is.” He shrugged. “Better expressed than bottled up. Especially an emotion like anger.” 

"I disagree," he replied softly. "I've never found anger expressed to be very healthy for my person…" He clenched his jaw, something in the depths of his eyes dark and foreboding. "Life changing to be sure but not healthy."

Jonathan watched Edward clench his jaw with great interest. “And trying to control it is, Edward? Something tells me that hasn’t worked for you in the past.” 

"It is...currently working," he replied, almost inaudibly. "Don't psychoanalyze me, sir. I don't like it." 

“Didn’t mean to offend.” Jonathan shrugged. “I don’t often have casual conversations with former students. Or most people, really.” 

His shoulders relaxed at Jonathan's easy apology. "I have been enjoying our conversation," he murmured softly. 

Jonathan nodded. He admittedly had tolerated, even enjoyed their meeting. “I feel similarly. Perhaps we could do it again sometime.” 

Edward's eyes lit up and he nodded. "Yes. I would like that," he replied a bit more subdued, feigning nonchalance. 

“Fantastic.” He said as enthusiastically as he could manage, his slight southern drawl making an appearance. “I’ll make an attempt not to psychoanalyze you next time. You’re just very ...interesting, to tell you the truth.” 

Edward enjoyed listening to the former professor talk, the smooth southern tone easy on the ears after day in and day out of bitter city dialect. "You have my number, Dr. Crane," he said, coming to stand. He hadn't realised how late it had gotten, everyone else in the cafe had gone. The barista was pointedly putting the chairs and stools on tables. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Jonathan stood as well, wondering if society deemed this as a handshaking moment, deciding to grab his jacket from the back of the chair instead. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Nygma.” 

Edward gave a little wave as he exited the cafe, a soft smile on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a few weeks since that initial coffee meeting with his former mentor, and things at the GCPD had begun to pick up in earnest. A few bodies had been found by the riverbed, eyes wide open, some missing the  oculus uterque right down to the optic nerve. This was most likely due to animals or insects, but Edward would know more when he got the bodies back to the lab. There were scratches and lacerations on the victims’ face and throat. Signs of a struggle maybe? 

When Edward was able to get them back to the lab, sneaking into the M.E.s office, as usual, he was able to observe and deduce that the amygdala had been completely excised. “Fascinating…” 

Suddenly, the door opened, and in came the idiot M.E, and the Captain. Edward paled, hand still in the temporal lobe of the man’s brain. He was subsequently dismissed with a suspension, pending a formal investigation. He did not reveal his findings to those ungrateful neanderthals. Let them flounder on their own. 

He decided --since he was out of work for the moment-- to call up the only other person he knew with an abundance of free time on his hands. He phoned Jonathan and left him a rather agitated message. “If you’ve time this afternoon, Dr. Crane, I would like to have tea with you again. If you would be amenable to my flat I shall see you at 805 Grundy at 19:00.” He knew his tone was sharper than it ought to be when addressing someone with whom you wish to share a beverage, but Edward was  _ angry,  _ and he needed to speak to someone about it. 

He prepared his apartment for visitors, cleaning up the mould experiments by the window, and putting them someplace inconspicuous, finishing the remaining dishes, and preparing the tea and sandwiches. He knew his old mentor was a coffee fiend and so he prepared some of the bitter beans for him with his french press. 

At around 7:10 he was beginning to lose hope that Jonathan was coming. 

Jonathan woke up mid-afternoon, groggy from his long night with his experiments. The voicemail on his cell surprised him, as he wasn’t amicable with many people. He groaned, back aching from another night passing out on the couch in his lab. He grabbed the glowing cell from the floor, curiously tapping on the “One Unread Voicemail”. It was from Edward Nygma. He sounded brusque; which was odd for the usually quietly polite young man. Interesting. 

He spent his free hours before the meeting perfecting his toxin for the next experiment. The last batch hadn’t been as potent as he’d hoped and that just wouldn’t do. As he toyed with the chemicals, he wondered if it would be polite to bring something as a guest. He had an unopened bottle of cheap wine upstairs that should do.

Jonathan was easily distracted by his work, cursing as he saw his watch read 6:14. He was chronically late for everything. Quickly, he shed his smock for his nearest brown sweater, almost forgetting the wine bottle on his way out the door. 

He knocked on the metal door at 7:24. 

Edward had just been about to pour the coffee out, muttering to himself about social niceties and common courtesy when he heard the knock, a smile blooming on his lips. He opened the door and greeted his old mentor warmly. "Please come in, Dr. Crane, thank you for coming on such short notice." 

He showed him around the small flat, each area had a designated purpose. The bed tucked against the wall, the kitchen over near the windows on the opposite wall from the door. A small makeshift sofa surrounded by books and papers, which seemed to trickle and pile onto the dining room table. 

"I made you coffee...I know you prefer it to tea."

“That’s very kind of you.” Jonathan took the pot of coffee, helping himself without invitation. Used to his own clutter, he found Edward’s apartment nice, comfortable.

“You sounded uptight in your message.” Jonathan availed himself to a seat on the sofa. “Is there something you’d like to discuss?” 

Edward watched as Jonathan made himself quite at home. He fumbled for a moment, preparing his own tea and plating the sandwiches before joining the other man on the sofa. "I got suspended today," he replied hotly. 

Jonathan sighed, pausing momentarily to take a bite out of his sandwich. “What happened?” 

Edward sighed heavily, sinking into the cushions of the sofa for a moment with his tea held close. "The idiot M.E. got me suspended! I have been solving his cases because he is too stupid to see what is right in front of him. From C.O.D. to the fact that a whole gland is missing from the human brain!!"

Dr. Crane stiffened, placing his coffee gently on the table. “Ah.” 

“Intelligent of you, Edward. Did you figure out how the victim died before you were suspended?” 

"No," he huffed. "Not that it mattered to them even if I did." He sipped his tea with a frown. "But the amygdala had been quite professionally excised and the GCPD will probably never know. They stopped me before I could record my findings. That idiot will never see it."

“I see.” Jonathan was delighted. He sipped more of his coffee, keeping his composure. “Despite your suspension, it must feel nice to know only you hold the information to solve the crime. Silver lining.” 

"I don't care about the crime," he said flippantly, adjusting his glasses a moment. 

“What is it that you care about?” Jonathan stared at Edward, unconsciously analyzing his body language. 

Edward was tense, body tucked into itself on the sofa like a pretzel, long limbs bent under himself.  _ You know what we care about, Eddie. It's not  _ right _ that they squander our intelligence!  _

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slightly, and if trying to dispel a bad thought. "I just want to do good work," he murmured.

“You want to be recognized.” Jonathan cocked his head. “Pardon me beating a dead horse, but as I mentioned during our first meeting, I really would advise you to stand up for yourself. In whatever way that means for you.” 

He narrowed his eyes slightly, a plan forming in the back of his mind as Jonathan spoke. "Why don't they understand, Jonathan?" he asked lowly, speech and cadence rougher, more confident. "Why are idiots allowed to undermine intellectuals?"

“Because they’re afraid of us.” Jonathan scoffed, feeling his own anger simmering. “They’re aware we’re more capable, more willing to bend societal norms to find the answers.” 

Edward nodded emphatically. "Yes!" He nearly spilled his tea, sitting up straighter to lean forward. "I knew you would understand!" 

Jonathan, startled, leaned back into the cushions. He could feel Edward’s breath on his face. “...Yes. I’ve had similar experiences, as you know.” 

He blinked, noting Jonathan's widened eyes and downturned mouth. He bit his lip and sat back. "Yes...apologies for the enthusiasm, Dr. Crane." 

“It’s...alright, Edward.” Jonathan placed his hands in his lap. “I will admit, I’m also enthusiastic that we’re so compatible. It’s nice to relate to someone else.” 

He sipped his tea, hiding a warm smile. "I agree, Dr. Crane. It feels good to have a real conversation. So, what do you think it might mean that the perpetrator steals the amygdala~? I've been trying to puzzle it out all day."

“Well…” Jonathan fixed his glasses, suppressing a smirk. “Clearly your perpetrator is an intellectual. Perhaps, they’re a collector with a fascination for the brain. What do you think?” 

Edward liked this game. Puzzling out the motive was one of his favourite pastimes. "If they've got a fascination for the brain, why not take the hippocampus, or...or the thalamus. Why take the center for fear?" 

Jonathan frowned inwardly. Edward was almost  _ too  _ smart. 

"As a psychologist, why do you think someone would want the centre for emotions?" He asked after a moment.

“Someone has a fascination…” Jonathan mused, aware he was feeding Edward valuable information about himself. But, he was curious if he would suspect him. He felt an adrenaline rush at the thought of nearly being caught by a former pupil. “Perhaps for research, even.”

Edward's eyes glimmered in the low light, a new puzzle to solve. And didn't Professor Crane make it sound so interesting? He sipped his tea with a grin, mind already whirling a mile a minute. 

It was a few moments of silence before he spoke again. "Why did you come to Gotham, Dr. Crane?"

Jonathan took another sip of coffee. “After my great grandmother died unexpectedly, I moved up north. Been in Gotham ever since.” 

"Your great grandmother?" he asked softly. "What of your mother or…?"

“Bastard child. Father left. My mother soon after,” he replied coldly. “I was raised by my viciously religious great grandmother. How about you, Edward? Have you always resided in Gotham?”

Edward could tell the bitter tone of a child mistreated and harmed by their caretakers. Which was the only reason he said: "No, I'm not from Gotham." 

“Where are you from?” Jonathan sensed a story behind his words. If he allowed himself to open up emotionally, then Edward had to as well. 

Edward clenched his jaw. "Further west," he murmured softly. "Near Fawcett City, not so close that we could go there on a whim, but that was the closest big city." 

"A midwestern boy…" Jonathan chuckled. "At least you’re not from the Deep South. So many unintelligent people.” 

That earned a laugh from Edward. "However did you survive~?"

“Probably the same as you.” Jonathan sipped the last of his coffee. “Barely.” 

There was a long silence after that. Not uncomfortable, but not something Edward knew how to break without revealing too much of himself in front of the doctor. Finishing his tea he rose, grabbing the bottle of wine Jonathan had brought. "Would you like a glass, sir?" 

Jonathan took this long silence as an affirmation. He took great pleasure in how similar Edward was to him, wondering if he would find a pupil to assist with his experiments. He smiled. “I would absolutely love some.” 

Edward smiled softly and brought over two glasses and the bottle. "So what are your plans now, sir? Someone of your intellect surely won't stay down for long."

“That’s very kind.” Jonathan let out a small laugh as he took the glass. “I’m focusing on my own independent projects at the moment. I’ll be busy for quite some time.” 

His eyes widened, and he leaned forward in interest. "Would you share a bit of it with me, Dr. Crane?"

Jonathan took a sip of his wine. “One day, perhaps. I like to keep my more private experiments secret.” He maintained his cool composure. “I’ll announce my findings when I’m ready.” 

Edward smiled brightly and nodded, sipping his wine. "I cannot wait to read it, sir." He adjusted his glasses, a faint blush high on his cheeks, either from the wine or the close proximity to his former professor, he wasn't sure. 

Jonathan noticed Ed’s rosier cheeks and smirked. How adorable. Of course, it would be one of his former students who found research endearing. Edward most likely wouldn’t approve if he discovered who his test subjects were, though. That thought delighted him even more. Of course, it was probably just the wine. 

Edward's mind was pleasantly foggy, the wine suffusing his chest with a tingling warmth as he gazed at Dr. Crane. 

_ "Aww, Eddie, do you have a crush on your professor?"  _ A smug lilt teased his ear. 

Suddenly he scowled, eyes flickering down to the wine in his glass. Intoxication always made the nuisance more chatty, he ought to stop this now before his astute professor noticed. "Dr. Crane, I hate to cut the evening short, but I must be in to the G.C.P.D promptly tomorrow for a disciplinary meeting, and it's getting late…"

Jonathan noticed the sudden switch in Edward’s mood. He took a mental note of this while remaining stony-faced so as not to let his own facial expressions betray him. “Understandable. Sleep is important.” He downed the last of his wine and stood. “Until next time, Edward.” He held out his hand. 

Edward scrambled to his feet, taking Jonathan's hand in his own to give it a firm shake. "Thank you for coming by, " he murmured. "I hope to see you soon, Dr. Crane." He had not released the professor's hand and did so now with a quiet apology. 

Eyebrow raised, Jonathan waited for his former student to let go of his hand before making his way to the door. He smirked and gave a small nod at Edward’s apology. “Keep me updated on your current case if you can. It’s quite fascinating.”

Edward nodded and quietly wished the doctor a goodnight before shutting the door. He rested his forehead against the cool metal with a slight smirk. 

_ Shall we get to work? _


	3. Chapter 3

Getting reinstated to the G.C.P.D. had not been difficult. In truth, he had followed Dr. Crane's advice about not allowing idiots to rule his life, and now that Neanderthal M.E. was facing jail time, and Edward had his old position back. 

The case files for the new serial murder case were the most interesting thing Edward had read in quite awhile, and he couldn't help feel a sense of familiarity while going over them; like there was something he was missing. A new body was discovered early in the morning, a street vagabond, easily missed among the crowd, but the shock of white hair and the strange face frozen in rigor piqued Edward's interest. He tested the blood for toxins and found a strange amalgamation of chemicals, which spiked the victims' anxiety and induced enough fear to cause heart failure. The murderer was scaring his victims to death! 

How fascinating.

As he began to put the pieces together (a lot faster than the brain-dead officers of the G.C.P.D.) a profile began to emerge that only one person could fit. 

He rang Jonathan immediately, requesting another drinking session at his apartment. 

Jonathan had been patiently awaiting another invitation from his former student. He had grown quite fond of Edward Nygma. And of course, after his most recent experiment, a little break was well deserved. 

As well, he now had a source of measurement for how close the GCPD was to interfering with his work. 

He arrived (on time) with another bottle of wine to Edward’s apartment. 

Edward had a nice dinner prepared, jittery mind unable to quiet unless occupied by something. He knew his professor was originally from the South, and so he had prepared cajun chicken and grits with buttermilk biscuits and collard greens. He had just finished setting the small table, recently thrifted from the side of the road when Jonathan knocked on the door. 

In three quick strides, he was there pulling the door open with a smile. "Dr. Crane, thank you for coming!" He invited him in, babbling a bit about the meal prepared. "Though, if you'd prefer we can just order Chinese," he finished, self-consciously. 

“That’s...so kind.” Jonathan’s compliment was genuine, unlike his usual polite or sarcastic responses. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone’s cooked for him. And the attention to his southern routes was just as touching. “This is fine.” 

He handed Edward the bottle of wine, taking a place at the table awkwardly. “Back at work, are you? How are things down at the GCPD?” 

" _ Very _ interesting indeed, but let's talk over dinner." He went into the kitchen to open the wine, pouring two glasses before beginning to serve the food, inviting Jonathan to sit. Once everything was settled Edward levelled the other man with a grin. "There's been a break in the case involving the newest serial murderer."

“A break, huh?” His voice faked surprise, but Jonathan scoffed inwardly. What could those imbeciles down at the GCPD have come up with… Unless? “And have you...continued to work on the case?” He grabbed his silverware, gaze fixed on his plate.

"I have!" he grinned. "And I think I've made quite the discovery. There is some sort of... toxin to induce a fear response in their blood. Someone is studying fear!" He looked over his glasses, observing his mentor.

_ Fear toxin...hmm.  _ He looked up at Edward, a slight smile on his lips. “Fascinating. What evidence brought you to that conclusion, Ed?”

"I ran a tox-screen on their blood,  _ doctor _ ," he beamed. "After the amygdala was taken from the first few victims it would seem they were used to develop such a toxin, among other things."

“Intelligent. I’m impressed.” Jonathan leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest. “And did you give the GCPD your findings?” 

"No, I thought I would discuss it with  _ you _ first~" he leaned forward, eyes wide with avid interest. "I think my profile concerns you quite personally."

Jonathan took a sip of his wine. “So you suspect me, then?” He stared at Edward, a smirk forming on his lips. “And what does your profile say about me, Edward?” 

He grinned, words coming out in a rush, "All the crimes committed were crimes of convenience, no seeming victimology in terms of race, gender, of age. All victims (7 so far) have come from the streets. 

Extremely well organised, intelligent, and highly motivated. Seems to have a medical background as well as knowledge of pharmaceuticals. 

I believed him to be a white male, late 30s early 40s, due to the sophistication. Unemployed," at this, he gave Jonathan a little smirk. "The crimes don't seem to have a specific timeframe.

My profile led me to you, Dr. Crane.

Your dissertation was on the psychology of fear, was it not? And one of your graduate degrees specialises in pharmaceutical psychology?" He stopped with a grin, all evidence laid out. He felt quite brilliant for having figured it all out. 

He laughed. “So what next? I don’t think it’s wise for you to try to bring me in on your own.” Jonathan stood up, looming over the table. 

He wondered if Edward would figure him out, he had hoped it would be him, in fact. The kid was smart. He lacked self-preservation of course, but he was smart. 

“What’s stopping you from becoming my next experiment? I would like to see what my former student, Edward Nygma, fears the most. Is it perhaps failure? Feeling bested, even?” 

Edward stood, arms raised as he gazed at the steak knife clutched in Jonathan's hand. He backed up slowly, wondering if Jonathan had concealed any of that toxin on him. Then immediately wondering how it was administered. Would it be better in a serum, or as a gas? 

His thoughts stopped suddenly as Jonathan began to speculate on his fears, cheeks colouring hotly. "Dr. Crane," he snapped. "You are making a  _ big _ mistake!"

“How so? You’re a brilliant young man, but unfortunately, you made this very easy for me to tie up loose ends.” Jonathan toyed with the knife in his hand. “It’s a shame, really. But please, try to babble your way out of this.” 

"The reason I revealed my knowledge," he began quickly. "Is because I am interested- intrigued- by your work. There is no forensic evidence. Nothing to physically tie you to the crime! It's brilliant. I have so many questions, recently...I've been going through a kind of...change.” When the other man looked less than amused he continued forward, words falling through his lips like water. “What kind of change you ask~ I've started murdering people!" 

Jonathan cocked his head, squinted, and placed the knife gently on the table. “Not...the response I was expecting but, go on.” Even if Edward wasn’t telling the truth - which Jonathan doubted - his story would be compelling. Certainly, something to remember Edward by if he did have to kill him. 

"Well, first was my father, but personally I think you already suspected that. Your past and mine are so similar after all," he said meaningfully. "And then I killed an officer for abusing a woman I lo- care about." 

“We are similar, yes.” Which was a probable explanation for why Jonathan was hesitating to kill Edward. “At least I suspected you of having sensibility until this evening’s events. I’m interested to hear about this second murder, though. So, you’re a revenge killer?” 

"I certainly wouldn't say revenge…" he muttered. "Ms. Kringle has never looked twice at me, but...but he was  _ hurting _ her. She had bruises!"

Jonathan stepped around the table, moving closer to Edward. “It felt great, didn’t it? Giving him what he deserved.” 

"Yes," he breathed, nodding emphatically. "Is that what it felt like for you too?"

“After all I suffered at the hands of my great granny, killing her was magnificent. It was empowering.” Jonathan admitted his first kill, for the first time, to Edward. “As you know, I don’t have a connection to my current victims. I kill for necessity. It still is thrilling.” 

His eyes glimmered and he hastened to ask his next question, "Your experiments!" He grinned. "How are you administering the serum. The Neanderthal was the acting M.E. for all your victims this far, and they haven't let me examine the new bodies. Toxicology was only so telling. Was it a serum, a gas? Something they ate?"

Jonathan blinked, analyzing Edward’s excitement. This was not the response of a man who was collecting evidence, but a man truly fascinated by his work. “Well, currently it’s a serum. I’m developing a gas. You called it...fear toxin?”

"A toxin that induces fear, ergo fear toxin. I like wordplay," he grinned. "A gas would allow you to administer it to more victims more quickly, but what is the goal, Dr. Crane?" 

“To show Gotham the power of fear by generating it from within,” Jonathan explained. “Also, to enact a bit of revenge on those who took my position away from me. The fear toxin as a gas could affect crowds. And how interesting would that be?” 

Edward smirked as he regarded Jonathan, moving to resume his seat now that he was sure the other man wouldn't harm him. "How have your experiments gone so far? You're observing fear? Or is that merely your method of torture?"

Jonathan smiled, folding his hands on the table once he sat. “Both. I’m continuing to explore my theory using these experiments. They’ve been going quite well.” 

"Amazing," he beamed, high cheekbones glowing a soft pink. 

“Are you...interested in helping with my research? Perhaps I could help you craft your...current change?” Jonathan grinned, noticing Edward’s blush.

Edward regarded Jonathan for a long moment, taking time to sip his wine and eat a bit of his dinner before answering. "I'm interested in observing you, in learning better methods for myself. I think your toxin might be put to better use in the future, more lucrative gains than simple torture… but I'm not sure the best way to implement it yet…"

“So you need a mentor?” Jonathan took another sip of his wine, pausing as Edward had. “I’m more than willing to be that for you. In turn, you keep the GCPD off my back. Together we can figure out what other uses my fear toxin can have.”

Edward nodded emphatically. "Yes," he breathed, leaning closer. "That's what I want."

“Well,” Jonathan leaned in as well, presenting Edward with his hand. “Then you have yourself a mentor, Nygma.” 

Edward grinned and shook Jonathan's hand firmly, barely containing his excitement. "You will not be disappointed, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a few months since Edward’s revelation to Jonathan that he knew what the other man had been doing with his abundance of free time. Since then the two had become nearly inseparable. Edward helped to misdirect the G.C.P.D. while simultaneously assisting Jonathan in the development of his fear toxin, streamlining the formula so that his patients (a loose term that Jonathan seemed to prefer) did not die, but rather suffered through a few hours of their greatest fear. 

Jonathan was ever so grateful for the new subjects to study, and Edward found himself looking for more and more reasons to please his friend and mentor. Currently, he was sitting in their warehouse turned laboratory, synthesizing two chemical compounds in the hopes that he could aerosolize the formula to show Jonathan upon his return. Injecting the victims was often messy and required them to be functionally subdued, a difficult feat for the two gangly men. Jonathan had mentioned the idea of creating a gas for the toxin, and the two had experimented together over the weekend, but during his shift at work, he had a breakthrough and was eager to test his theory despite his partner’s absence. 

A loud crash outside the warehouse caused the young man to jump, spilling more from the vial than he had intended. The resounding explosion knocked Edward to the floor with a cry. “Oh crud,” was all he managed to murmur before the effects of the potent toxin took over. 

“Fuck,” Jonathan muttered under his breath, much quieter than the shatter his new, now broken, beakers made on the pavement. He shouldn’t have carried so many supplies all at once, but he enjoyed being efficient. Or at least trying to be. 

Sighing, hand on the door of the warehouse, he heard an explosion from inside. “Fuck!” he shouted, leaving the pile of utensils on the ground where he placed them. Panicked, he rushed inside. “Edward!?” 

Edward was curled up on the floor, head in his trembling hands. "Please no, I'll be a good boy, I swear. I didn't cheat!" he cried out, glazed eyes unseeing as he looked up at Jonathan.  _ "I didn't cheat!"  _

Seeing Edward writhing before him caused Jonathan to feel sentimentality to which he was unaccustomed. Guilt. Concern. And even a little bit of fear for his young protege. With his patients, witnessing the effects was all in a day’s work, an opportunity to improve his toxin. But this wasn’t a patient, this was Edward. He had grown fond of the young man. Perhaps even cared about him. Seeing the manifestation of fear in Edward’s eyes was more than unpleasant. He sank to the floor beside him and carefully grabbed his shoulders.

“Edward, it’s me. It’s just the toxin. You know this.” Jonathan wasn’t sure if he could talk him through the hallucinations. Time was most likely the only antidote. 

Edward heard Jonathan through the fog, pupils dilated as he looked at his partner. He screamed as Jonathan's concerned expression morphed into anger, the phantasm screaming at him about his accident, about the wasted chemicals.  _ Fuck up, screw up,  _ **_failure!_ ** "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

He thrashed against him as he was half dragged, half carried over to the sofa Edward had insisted on bringing in. Jonathan wrestled Edward onto it. “Don’t be sorry, be careful with my chemicals.” His tone was nonchalant, but his heart was racing inside his chest. “Ed, concentrate on my voice. The hallucinations will stop soon.” Jonathan, terrified of his toxin going horribly wrong on his friend, placed his hand on Edward’s heart to see how quickly it was beating. “ _ Shit. _ Edward. Deep breaths.”

Soon his screams quieted to whimpers as the toxin slowly left his system. It was two hours before he fell into a fitful sleep, clinging to himself as he lay curled up on the sofa. 

Four hours later the young scientist rose with a groan, holding his head. "What the fuck, I knew we should've developed an antidote sooner," he said dryly, voice hoarse. 

Jonathan looked up from the book he was reading at his makeshift desk. “Oh good, you’re awake. Must have been a hell of a trip.” He walked over and squatted by the couch, examining Edward’s eyes with a hint of concern in his own.

Edward looked up, nose nearly brushing Jonathan's as he smirked. "Hi, Jonny, indeed it was one hell of a trip. One I would like not to repeat~" 

Jonathan jerked back at the sudden close contact between him and his former pupil. He was flirtatious, different even. The facial expression Edward was making was one of an entirely different person.  _ Interesting. _ “Then don’t drop the toxin.” 

Edward reached out with deft hands, catching the good doctor before he fell on his skinny ass. He sat back, smirk widening. "Duly noted, sir~ So tell me, how do my fears rank among the others you've studied?"

“Well, it certainly stems from childhood trauma.” Jonathan stammered, attempting to remain his stoic self as he was caught by a surprisingly confident Edward Nygma. “Which,” he continued, now on firmer footing hiding behind jargon and a role he no longer had any right to fulfill, “Either was completely overcome due to the hallucinations, or you have a personality disorder of some sort.” 

His eyes glittered in the low light. "Of some sort, dear doctor~"

Jonathan cleared his throat, awkwardly sliding out from Edward’s hands. His cheeks felt flush, the warmth suffuseing down to his chest; this was a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he was a boy. “It’s certainly a boost to your confidence. I can help, you know.” 

"I think we're doing just fine, Jonny," he purred, sitting back against the sofa once more. "Eddie's sleeping now. So, unfortunately, you must converse with little ol' me."

Jonathan stood up, folding his arms. “What do I call you, then?” Putting some distance between himself and his new ‘patient’ seemed to be the best course of action. He needed to maintain an air of professionalism even in such an awkward and frankly inconvenient situation. 

Edward cocked his head, biting his lip. "I'm not sure. It's not something we've ever considered. Normally people don't acknowledge the difference."

“You didn’t exactly do a fantastic job hiding it,” Jonathan smirked, mentally taking notes. “Plus, it’s my job to notice these things.” 

"I admit I was showing off for you a little," he chuckled. "Eddie's had quite the crush on you, and I can see why."

“I-does he?” Jonathan stammered, taken aback. He shook his head, dispelling the myriad of tangential thoughts rooted in a dilapidated antebellum and a twisted woman’s dark views of the world. This was not about him; quickly, he gained his composure. “Fascinating. So, what are you protecting him from?”

Edward's sharp eyes watched the doctor’s face process several emotions at once. He noted the way his dark eyes darted down and away from Edward at the confession, cheeks and ears flushing a dull red, the abrupt change of subject. 

Interesting. 

He didn't press further, but he filed the information away for later.

"I suspect you know already, Dr. Crane. I protect Eddie from a myriad of things he does not wish to face."

“His childhood? His fear of being inadequate? He hasn’t quite given me the exact details, but I read people well,” Jonathan smirked. “I didn’t expect his lack of confidence to be quite the issue, though. You’re quite the extrovert. Narcissistic as well.” 

"Guilty, " he replied with a lascivious smirk and a wink of his eye. 

“Figures.” Jonathan crossed his arms, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine. “Does he know about you yet? That could cause a lot of problems.” 

"He's well aware of me, has been since he was a kid," he replied flippantly with a wave of his hand. "Are you worried about the stability of our partnership, Dr. Crane?"

“I’m worried about Edward’s stability,” Jonathan admitted. There was no doubt in his mind their partnership would be fine. Edward was lucky he was a psychologist and would be able to help maintain his sanity. “Too much fracturing can be detrimental. Talking to oneself is never the best sign.”

"Family didn't really believe in therapy, you know the type, I suspect~" Edward snarked and sneered. "Though I think all things considered our boy is pretty healthy, minus the helping a serial murderer commit crimes under the nose of his employers: the G.C.P.D."

Jonathan smiled darkly. “He volunteered. Once a student, always a student.” Jonathan walked over to his makeshift desk, remembering his open notebook and pen. “Therapy and medicine wise, I can help with. I want my partner to be as mentally stable as possible. I need him.”

"Student, acolyte...the lines do tend to blur don't they doctor," he teased. "As for his, my, our mental stability I hardly think you'll be able to help us out of this rabbit hole."

“Take some antipsychotics first and we’ll see.” Jonathan hummed to himself as he jotted down the name of the drug he’d test on Ed first. “I can’t help you out. But I can maintain it.” 

Edward pursed his lips, looking like a sulky child. "Eddie starts taking antipsychotics, Doctor, and I cease to be…"

“He has every capability of being you considering you’re just a manifestation of his subconscious. Treating trauma begins with processing what you went through as a child so that you can meld the personalities. The goal is to be whole and functional with all the parts of yourself cooperating and integrated.” Jonathan put the notebook down, walking back towards Edward. “Although,” he murmured as an afterthought, index finger tracing his pursed lips. “You could be useful to me.” 

The other man smirked, crossing his legs at the knee as he looked over his glasses at Jonathan. "Really, doctor~ How would you  _ use _ me," he asked, tone dripping with prurience. 

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed even as he felt his entire body tingle once more. “You’re quite fond of innuendo, aren't you? Funny, I always considered Ed _ inexperienced _ .” He prodded, attempting to get a rise. He hated being caught so off-balance. “I could use a more confident, vivacious Edward. Plus, I’d like to see more of what my toxin can do to a person with dissociative identity disorder.” 

Edward's face fell into a scowl. "Eddie has never had a partner, no, but you shouldn't discount my effervescent charm~" He stood, looking over the burns on his arms as if he had just noticed them. "As for experimenting on me,  _ doctor, _ I'll pass, we'll pass. I don't like the idea of you rooting around Eddie's psyche."

Jonathan ignored the other man’s boastful proclamation with a roll of his eyes, telling himself it didn’t matter either way. “ _ I  _ didn’t knock over the dangerous chemicals. And I don’t need your permission to psychoanalyze you both. You being a chatterbox is providing me all the information I need. The experiments will come in time. You’re clumsy enough.” He grabbed one of Edward’s arms and started cleaning the wounds. 

He pursed his lips in a sour expression, both at Jonathan's words and his not so gentle bedside manner. "Remind me why Eddie likes you again?" he grumbled, holding in a hiss of pain as Jonathan disinfected a particularly painful burn. Thankfully, he had been wearing gloves and a visor shield so only parts of his forearms had been exposed.

“If  _ Eddie  _ likes me, then you must as well.” Jonathan pressed a bit harder with the disinfecting wipe than necessary. “I’m not sure why you have a teenage crush on me. Must be jealousy. I am very smart. Hold still.” He ripped gauze from its roll. 

Edward scoffed, face heating with a delicate pink flush. "Jealousy? It's not  _ me _ who needed help with a simple covalent chemical bond~"

Johnathan scowled. “ _ You _ offered to help. Because you like to help me. To show me how smart you are.” He wound the bandage around his arm, patting it down. He was satisfied with how his words seemed to be affecting his former student. He enjoyed prodding. 

"I don't need to  _ show _ you how smart I am, doctor. I am perfect, I take no sides, one line makes up my composition. What am I?"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “It’s always riddles with you, isn’t it?”

His eyes began to glaze over, a lazy smile on his lips. "Riddles help you to solve the enigma of the man, Dr. Crane." He shut his eyes for a moment then opened them again, expression shifting from confident narcissist to skittish and frightened Edward Nygma. 

Jonathan noticed the shift, surmising that Edward -awkward, unconfident Edward- was awake. “Edward? What do you remember?” Jonathan asked him calmly, trying not to cause him to panic.

"I remember working with the two synthesized compounds, then a crash, and then everything went black." He chose not to divulge just what he had seen under the influence of the toxin, though he suspected Jonathan knew more than he was letting on. 

“You were hallucinating from the toxin,” he started slowly. “And then your other self made an appearance.” 

Edward blanched, already pale skin turning the colour of sour milk. "He...you spoke to him?" he asked in a trembling tone. 

“Yes.” Jonathan sat down slowly next to Edward, donning his own persona of psychiatrist. “He’s...interesting. Very charismatic and talkative. He had a lot to say about you.” 

Edward audibly swallowed, shifting slightly away as Jonathan came to sit next to him. "I would suggest taking  _ anything _ he said with a grain of salt…"

“Considering he’s a manifestation of your subconscious, I cannot,” Jonathan admitted. “If you dislike him so much, I can help control him with medication if you’d like.” 

"It's...complicated," he mumbled, jaw tight. "Though I suppose now you'll not want me as your partner anymore. Now that you know I'm  _ crazy _ ."

“We all have our own kind of crazy,” Jonathan sighed, folding his hands together. “On the contrary, I need you as my partner more. I’ve seen your true potential, Edward.”

His brow furrowed. "Explain," he said, guarded.

“He was confident, vivacious, and charismatic.” Jonathan shrugged, placing his arm on the back of the couch behind Edward’s head. “Those are all qualities I’ll need to secure materials and finances for my experiments. You’re not just your intelligence, Edward.”

Edward flushed, checking Jonathan's close proximity out of the corner of his eye before looking down at his bandaged arms. “What would I need to do to get rid of him?” he asked softly as he shifted away from the other man. 

Jonathan explained to the boy what he had told the other: Edward needed to come to terms with his past trauma and accept the other personality as part of himself. Medication might help with the transition, but processing what happened to him would be the only viable and long-term solution. Jonathan chose not to reflect on the irony of himself being the one to tell another to process their trauma. “However, you’re the patient. It’s not my decision. Depends on how quiet you want him to be.”

Edward lifted his long legs, knees resting against his chin, his arms wrapped tightly around. "I don't want to hear him at all, but...is it wrong that I wish I could  _ be _ him?" he asked softly. 

“That’s partially why he exists.” Jonathan placed an awkward hand momentarily on Edward’s shoulder and pulled it away. “He’s a protection from abuse, but he’s also you. You are him. You just have to accept that.”

"You know I dislike it when you psychoanalyze me," he mumbled. "Can we stop talking about this, about him?" 

“I apologize. But you really do need to talk about this, Ed,” Jonathan explained. “I’m sure you’re sick of arguing with yourself. You should talk to him. Accept him, or take the drugs.” 

"I can't go on antipsychotics, doctor, I work in a police precinct. It was difficult enough to pass the eval with my history!" He stood, beginning to pace, a dark laugh bubbling up in his mind.

“Wouldn’t that be the very reason to go on medication? Wouldn’t want him murdering again.” Jonathan knew he was prodding Ed’s agitation more, but he needed more notes. He needed to understand how the two interacted. It was the first step in combining the two halves. “I’m sure you don’t want to lose your position. And I certainly need you to keep it for as long as possible. You're more useful to me at the G.C.P.D.” 

He scowled, eyes darkening briefly before clearing again. "Why are you pushing for this? I thought you needed him?"

“Oh I need him and I need you. But I need you  _ both  _ to stabilize,” Jonathan grinned. “I’m just trying to help you, Edward. You admitted you wanted to be him. I’m just providing the therapy to get there.” 

"Pretty shoddy therapy,  _ doctor,"  _ Edward replied scathingly, arms crossed over his chest, hip cocked out to the side. Not a classic Edward look to be sure.

Jonathan smiled. “But it worked. Hello again. If I get Eddie angry enough you come out to play. I  _ did _ get fired for my niche ideas.” 

Quick as lightning, Edward approached Jonathan and reached out, gripping his jaw tightly. "Did you,  _ doctor _ , or was it because you fired a gun into an auditorium of students?" He leaned close, lips almost touching Jonathan's as he whispered menacingly. "You don't know which of us is the more dangerous, sir, but I guarantee you'll regret prodding us further."

Jonathan gasped, staring Edward dead in the eyes. “I’ll just inject you with the toxin. Don’t underestimate me. You know I’m not afraid of you.” 

Edward smirked, dark eyes glimmering as Jonathan tried to defy him with false bravado. 

_ Let him go! You're ruining this for us! _

“Tell me,” Edward murmured, pressing his body against Jonathan’s lewdly. “What are _you_ afraid of~?” 

Jonathan’s face grew red. He ripped himself out of Edward’s grasp and grabbed his throat. Long thin fingers pressed dangerously against the sides of his neck as Jonathan took back control of the situation with a growl, “Don’t flatter yourself. Remember I’m not the one with the crush,  _ Eddie.” _ He pushed the lanky younger man off of him with his free hand and stood up. 

Edward revelled in the other man's touch before being shoved violently away. He barely managed to catch himself, landing on his ass instead of sprawled out before Jonathan. Edward was red, looking down and away from Jonathan in shame. "He-he told you about that?"

“Yes. As I said, he’s very talkative. I’m sorry about that.” Jonathan smirked, helping him stand back up. The awkward Edward had returned. Jonathan looked away from Edward’s eyes. He also felt embarrassed but he attempted to stay collected. “Had to keep him in line. I’m glad to see you’re exploring your sexuality, Edward. That’s healthy.” Jonathan felt a little bad at prodding the meeker, nicer Edward, but it was part of the treatment plan. 

The flush deepened to a dull and angry red. "I'm not  _ exploring _ ! Whatever he said to you was a  _ lie _ !"

“Accept it. Accept  _ him. _ ” Jonathan stared at Edward, leaning forward to get right in his face. “What are you afraid of? That he’s capable of violent things? Edward, you’re already a murderer.”

"Shut up!" he shouted, holding his head. "Stop talking, please...both of you. Stop." He whimpered, falling to his knees.

Jonathan kneeled next to Edward with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Ed. But if we want to continue as partners, I have to do this for you. This is a part of you. You need to embrace it.” 

He fairly shook, scooting away from Jonathan.

_ How did it feel, being so close to him? To have his fingers around our throat. He  _ wants _ us, Eddie!  _

"Please...please stop."

_ How did it feel being against him~ how does it feel to be so accepted! He doesn't care about any of it! We need him to move forward, to unlock our full potential.  _

_ How does it feel knowing you have someone to guide you, to help you, to understand you! _

His breathing began to even out, body rocking slowing as he accepted his other half. 

_ How did it feel! _

"Beautiful," he murmured, finally one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this chapter, Jonathan uses his knowledge of psychology in order to further his own ends. I want to be clear that Edward did not process any of his trauma, nor did he actually make any viable progress in a meaningful way. These two villains don't reflect my views on therapy or psychology, so please don't come at me with your discourse when things inevitably take a turn for our green bean.


	5. Chapter 5

The G.C.P.D. was always difficult to navigate socially. From the pig-headed officers who barely knew the butt of their gun from their goot, to the detectives who couldn’t solve a case if the perp walked in with their hands cuffed. Edward knew he didn’t fit in despite his best efforts to befriend his coworkers. It had been the same throughout his life. Poor weird little Ed, don’t get too close, don’t address him unless absolutely necessary. He was a pariah, a nuisance, and one his coworkers would regret taking advantage of. 

The only person who had been remotely kind to him had been Miss Kringle. She always smelled of flowers, didn’t openly sneer at him, and though her organizational system left a lot to be desired, he knew her to be an intelligent woman. He had been oscillating between asking her out to dinner, or leaving another riddle to get her attention when a thought struck him. All of the men Miss Kringle had been attracted to previously, the ruffian Dougherty included, were strong overly masculine types. They relied more on smooth confidence and machismo than intelligence. 

He strode into Kristen’s office, breaking through the circle of brutes to hand her a note. 

“Dinner, with me, tonight. Chez moi.” Before she could have time to protest, he turned on his heels and exited the office. 

That night, Kristen followed the limited instructions on the card and knocked on a solid metal door in an apartment in Grundy. She was curious about Edward’s newfound confidence, and though she didn’t particularly find the forensic scientist interesting or appealing, she had to admit she had grown bored with her other suitors of late. 

The knock at the door made Edward’s heart race. Ever the perfectionist, he spotlessly cleaned the apartment and prepared an intricate meal. Dates had never gone according to plan for his past, awkward self, but maybe his new acquired confidence would be the key. Kristen had been an object of his affection since he began at the GCPD. This could  _ not _ go wrong. He placed two wine glasses onto the set dining table and took a calming breath. He straightened his posture and answered the door. “Kristen. Come in!”

“You look lovely as usual,” He gestured her inside, a hopefully charming grin on his face. “Please take a seat. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.” He carefully poured wine into one of the glasses and made his way back to the kitchen to check the glazed carrots. 

She looked around the small apartment with a soft smile on her lips. Edward Nygma had always been an oddball, but very often he was also endearing, almost adorable. "I gotta say, I was surprised by the invitation, I didn't think Chez Moi would be your place and not a restaurant," she laughed gently. 

“ _ Chez moi _ does mean ‘my house’ in french, but I digress." Edward carried two plates full of chicken, potatoes, and roasted vegetables to the table. He poured them each a glass of wine, crisp and a little dry, and smiled as he handed it to her. "Please, enjoy."

She took the glass with a soft thanks and looked at the delicious spread before her. Normally, Kirsten was the one making the meal; it felt nice to be taken care of. She tucked into the dinner, and hummed at the flavour. "My goodness, I didn't realise you were such a good cook!"

“Thank you. I learned to cook at a young age,” Edward looked down at his plate to detract from the blush on his cheeks. He picked at his own chicken, delighted. “It’s a hobby of mine. Do you ever cook, Kristen?” Conscious of his tendency to ramble self indulgently, he turned the focus onto Kristen. 

"I enjoy baking more, but yes, I do like to cook," she replied with a smile. 

“Well, I do love sweets,” he looked up at Kristen with a grin. “I’d love to try your baking sometime. How’s the wine?” 

Kristen began to relax more and more as the night went on. Edward was respectful, kind, and rather funny when he wasn't trying so hard to be smart. Kristen left that evening rather looking forward to the next time Edward might invite her to dinner. 

Over the next few weeks Edward and Kristen began to grow closer together, much to the bafflement of everyone at the G.C.P.D. They even had a double-date with Jim Gordan and Dr. Leslie Tompkins, two people Edward never thought he would see outside work. Kristen was a pleasant distraction, her smile and kindness were reminders to Edward that perhaps the world wasn't as dark as he previously thought. 

He whistled to himself as he walked up the rickety metal stairs to his and Jonathan's shared lab. It had been a few days since they last met, and Edward was curious as to how the scientist had progressed without him. He strolled into the small space with a lovestruck grin and moved toward his desk after a lilting hello in Jonathan's direction.

Jonathan looked up from his work, a slight scowl on his face. “You decided to show up, huh?” He returned to tinkering with his chemistry immediately, his brain space taken up by equations rather than the excuse Edward may have for being absent. 

"I run but I cannot walk, I sometimes sing but never talk, I lack arms but I have hands, I lack a head but I have a face. What am I?" He asked loftily. When Jonathan didn't answer or turn to acknowledge him he frowned. "A clock. I didn't realise we were clocking my hours, Jonathan. Did we have something planned that I missed?"

“Hard to plan something with someone when they’re not around," Jonathan mused. He rested his hip on the work table and turned to stare at Edward. “If you overscheduled yourself elsewhere, you should have called.” 

"I'm sorry, Jonathan," he replied sincerely. "I should have given you indication that I wouldn't be joining you. It's just...something  _ wonderful _ has happened!"

Jonathan sighed. “And what wonderful thing happened to you exactly?” Perhaps if he indulged in Edward’s ramblings, he could get Edward to stay and help him with his latest batch of toxin. 

He grinned, smile stretching from ear to ear. "Miss Kringle agreed to dinner with me last week, and since then we have been on three subsequent dates, and I believe she truly likes me!"

“Oh goody, you have a girlfriend!” Jonathan rolled his eyes, sarcasm in his tone. “I’m happy for you, Edward, really. But if you’re going to help me I need you to show up from time to time.” 

Edward's smile fell, a dull flush colouring his cheeks. "Yes, of course, sir. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." He turned toward his desk, shoulders bowed, eyes trying to focus on his work. He thought Jonathan would be happy for him. After all, he was the one who advised him to move on from his past. "I see you need a better means of discharging your formula, a pressurized canister, or some sort of tank...Though that might get heavy and cumbersome…" 

They began to work together on the problem at hand and soon forgot their petty squabble. Solving the problem of administering the gas was a simple matter of Edward inventing a small portable device for Jonathan, attaching at the wrist and controlled through several tubes running along his arms to four small tanks carried on the sides of his chest. Edward was rather proud of his work, and hoped Jonathan approved. The test runs all went swimmingly, and they scheduled a heist for more chemicals for the following Thursday. 

Once they were done, Edward offered Jonathan a drink to celebrate their hard work. 

“I would love one.” Jonathan was already picking up his bottle of whiskey before Edward finished his sentence. He examined a glass left on their side table and decided it was clean enough. He poured himself a glass and took a swig. “Your work tonight was excellent, Edward. Thursday should go as planned.” 

He grinned, so  _ happy _ that Jonathan valued his work. He poured himself a small bit of whiskey, his own wine had gone bad over a week ago. He sipped the bitter liquid, nose burning as he swallowed more than he intended. He tried to keep a straight face, fearing reprisal from the other man if he made a fuss. "You will need to wear a gas mask, but I think that goes without saying."

Jonathan watched Edward’s attempt at swallowing the whiskey. He raised his eyebrow but decided a snarky comment wasn’t necessary. “Yeah. You’ll need one as well if you plan on joining me.” 

"You want me to go with you?" he asked, wide brown eyes warm and eager. He thought perhaps Jonathan meant for him to assist only in the research for his work, a safe distance from involvement. 

“Don’t you want to see your hard work pay off in person?” Jonathan asked, finishing his glass. “I could use an extra hand.” 

He nodded emphatically, taking a note from Jonathan and knocking his drink back. He coughed, cheeks red as the liquid burned his throat. 

Jonathan poured himself another glass. “So, how often do you plan on seeing this girl?” He swallowed an enormous sip, nonchalantly fiddling with their new device. Jon wasn’t sure why Edward’s social life bothered him so much.

Edward's expression turned foolishly sentimental as he gazed into the amber liquid with a smile. "I'm rather hoping she'll continue to see me for quite awhile."

“Don’t let her distract you from your work,” Jonathan continued. “Your help here is appreciated so I’d like you to show up from time to time.” 

He finished the drink with a wince and nodded at Jonathan's words. "I won't allow her to change our partnership~"

“Good.” Jonathan nodded. Edward’s lovestruck grin made him weary about Ed’s promise, but he was willing to give him another chance. The kid was intelligent and if he were being honest, Jonathan enjoyed his company. Always awkward at conversational flow, he returned his attention to his fear toxin. 

They began to discuss their work more and more and talk of Miss Kringle fell by the wayside. In the end Edward had to spend the night in the laboratory as Jonathan's proclivity to hold his alcohol had resulted in a very drunk Edward Nygma. As he sprawled out on the sofa, he smiled up at his mentor, reaching to caress his cheek. "You're a very handsome man, sir…"

Jonathan sat on the arm of the couch, looking down at his very inebriated pupil. He had finished his bottle of whiskey, leaving him slightly buzzed. His face grew hot at Edward’s drunken comment. “Mhm. I don’t think your girlfriend would be too pleased with you saying that.” 

He flushed, hiding his face in the pillow. "Shh, don't tell her!"

“Ed, I don’t even  _ know  _ her.” Jonathan shook his head, chuckling. “I suppose I just didn’t realize you were interested in anyone from work...” he trailed off and looked away, resting a nervous hand on the back of his neck. 

"Can't be too picky when you look like this," he mumbled into the cushion. He turned wide brown eyes onto Jonathan, too earnest and too warm for his own good. 

“Like _ what _ ?” Jonathan looked back, his buzz allowing him to be more conversational, more honest than usual. He looked down at Edward, heart thumping instantly as he met his gaze. 

"Don't be  _ foolish _ ," he slurred, sitting up so suddenly he was nose to nose with the other man. "I know what I look like, Dr. Crane."

“Edward Nygma, you are quite the handsome young man,” Jonathan admitted, not shaken at their sudden closeness. “And a moron.” 

Edward scoffed and without thought, pulled Jonathan in for a breathtaking kiss. 

For a moment, Jon was shocked. He realized he had craved Edward’s lips on his own. All those strange emotions. All the times he looked away as his heart paced faster. He  _ liked _ Edward. Jonathan melted into their kiss, cupping Edward’s jaw in his hands. 

Edward pressed himself against the other man, tilting his chin to deepen their kiss. After several long, languid kisses shared between the two Edward pulled away, eyes drooping shut as he fell slowly back against the sofa. 

Jonathan watched him slink back into a sleeping position. The quick turn of events dawned on him: contentment replaced with panic. He’d known he’d been attracted to men, but never in his life acted on it. Especially not with a former student. Granny was surely rolling in her metaphorical grave. Jonathan stiffened and quietly made his way to the workbench to distract himself with more experimentation. 


	6. Chapter 6

Jonathan prepared the canisters, securing them to his sides before concealing them with a large overcoat as he waited for his protege. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time and sighed heavily. As he feared, Edward was not going to show. Resigning himself to this fact, he began to make his way uptown toward Wellzyn, a small subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises that specialised in biochemical research and manufacturing. 

Edward had laid out the blueprints and schematics for the properties, courtesy of his connections at the G.C.P.D. The young man was meant to be the lookout as Jonathan slipped inside through a blind spot in their security system. Without the young man by his side, Jonathan tripped the alarm. Edward had calculated a response time of six minutes and forty-three seconds; he had been off by two minutes. 

“G.C.P.D. don’t move!” came the forceful shout of a uniformed officer, the red and blue lights causing Jonathan to squint even as he snarled in open defiance. 

Pressing the button on the inside of his wrist, the toxin was released from the canisters and pushed out through the tubing along his arms. It shot pressurized fear towards the unsuspecting officers; their screams of terror followed Jonathan through the alley as he made his escape. 

At least Edward had done one thing correctly. 

Edward stood on trembling legs, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gazed silently down at Kristen’s prone form. How had it come to this? How had it gone so wrong? He thought she would be grateful for riding her of that abusive oaf Dougherty. Why had she turned on him so quickly!?

There was only one person now he could rely on. He removed his phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it with the shakiness of his hands. Once he righted himself, he dialed Jonathan. 

Jonathan made it back to the warehouse, slinking through Gotham’s shadows to evade the G.C.P.D. Angrily, he cleared his desk of tools and slapped down a blank sheet of graph paper. If Edward was going to cop out on him continuously, Jonathan needed a better disguise than just a gas mask. He began his design, thinking of cornfields, of crows, inspired by fear…

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone. Irritated, he silenced the device and returned to approximating the size of gas tubes and the measurement of burlap necessary. It buzzed again. Jonathan pressed the side button on the device once more. He sketched jagged eyeholes -  _ buzz _ \- took precise measurements of his face -  _ buzz! Buzz! Buzz! _

“WHAT?” Jonathan picked up the phone, snarling. 

Edward breathed a sigh of relief as Jonathan finally picked up the phone. “Jonathan, thank God,” he croaked, throat tight. 

Jonathan stayed silent for a moment, seething. “Where were you?” he asked slowly and angrily, ignoring the apparent panic in Edward’s voice. 

“What?” He stalled, looking down at the young woman at his feet. “Please, Jonathan, I need your help.” 

“You need _my_ help?” Jonathan scoffed. He chugged the glass of bourbon he’d forgotten while working. “I almost got caught tonight because my lookout decided to not show up. _Again!_ _You_ need _my_ help?” 

Edward’s blood ran cold, what little colour remaining in his cheeks draining completely at Jonathan’s words. “W-was that tonight? Oh,  _ crud.  _ Jonathan, I’m so sorry, but you don’t understand, something terrible has-”

“I don’t give a  _ fuck _ what you’re going through, Edward.” Jonathan interrupted with a snarl. “I figured it out  _ alone _ . You too can figure it out alone.” He snapped his phone shut, tossing it onto the couch. He picked up his pencil once more to design his disguise. Alone.

“No wait, Jonathan, please-” The line went dead, causing Edward to bite his lip as he stared down at Kristen once more. 

The woods at this time of the night were particularly dark. Edward, having to navigate solely by flashlight, hardly knew where he was going as he dragged the heavy trunk through the brush. Once he found a suitable spot, Edward began to dig, whispering apologies for Kristen’s long wait and the unconventional resting place while he worked. Carefully, he set her down in the grave, giving a short eulogy to send her off. 

A light in the distance caught his eyes through the trees. Weary of anyone catching sight of his activity, he pulled up his hood and went to investigate. If someone had seen or heard him not only his career in the G.C.P.D. would be in jeopardy, but also any budding opportunities to explore this new side of himself; he would be cut off indefinitely. 

If only Jonathan had been here to help. 

Going toward the light, he found a beat-up old R.V. As he moved toward it, the door swung open, smacking Edward in the face. He fell back against the dirt with a hard thump, scrambling to pick his glasses up off the ground as a blurry figure came toward him, weapon raised. 

The figure fell to his knees, blood dripping from his lips. “Help me, please.” 

“Mr. Penguin?” 

Perhaps bringing a notorious criminal to the hideout of a mad scientist who was currently rather upset with him wasn’t one of Edward’s better ideas. However, this was the safest place in the city, unknown to the G.C.P.D. and not his private residence. It had supplies and some food as well any equipment Edward might need to aid the mobster. He said nothing to Jonathan as he dragged the other man into the lab, laying him down on the sofa before beginning to tend to his wounds. 

Jonathan would have been furious if he weren’t so confused. Was the problem Edward needed help with Oswald Cobblepot? Jonathan watched the slow drag of Oswald’s body across the floor and noticed the blood staining the sleeve of his shirt. Did Edward  _ shoot  _ the Penguin? “What the hell is this?” Jonathan followed his mentee and the unconscious figure to the couch, baffled. 

“Found him in the woods,” he huffed, out of breath after all that exertion. “Long story...help me get him onto the couch.”

Jonathan grunted, folding his arms. He watched Ed struggle for a few more seconds until he decided to comply. The younger man certainly lacked arm strength. He took hold of Oswald’s legs and helped hoist him onto the couch. “Make time to tell it,” he demanded, towering over Edward. 

Ignoring Jonathan for a moment, he moved toward his desk to grab several items. He then went back to the sofa and cut Mr. Cobblepot’s sweaty shirt from his chest. The wound on his shoulder was a simple through and through, and Edward sighed as he opened the first aid kit. “Kristen is dead,” he began without preamble. 

Jonathan raised a brow; Edward's answer had not helped to relieve his confusion. “And the death of your girlfriend connects to you, possessing the wounded, unconscious body of a notorious mobster  _ how _ ?”

He began to clean the other man’s wounds meticulously, not answering his mentor for several long moments as he concentrated. Finally, he looked up and started to fill in Jonathan on the evening events in full. “And I found him in an R.V. in the woods. He asked me to help him, so I brought him to the safest place I knew.”

Throughout Edward’s story, Jonathan winced, marveling at how someone so incredibly intelligent could be so marvelously stupid. “Wonderful. And what’s your next course of action? I don’t want him here.” 

Edward flushed, upset by Jonathan’s sharp disapproval. “I plan on helping him, of course,” he replied with a frown. “And I don’t need your approval to keep him here.” 

Jonathan chuckled. “You don’t? I assumed you were aware this was a mentor-mentee relationship instead of a partnership.” Jonathan felt a tinge of regret at the other connotations his words could have as he recalled their drunken mishap. “You didn’t show up here when I needed you. Why should I allow you to house your problems here?” 

Edward sucked in his cheeks in a sour expression, plush lips protruding in a slight pout as he was reprimanded and reminded just how little he meant to the other man. “As soon as he wakes, then, we’ll be out of your hair,  _ sir _ ,” he grit out, turning his attention once more toward the mobster.

Jonathan gave a beleaguered sigh. The look on Edward’s face made him realize he was perhaps being too harsh. “Would you like some help with his wound, Edward?” 

“I’m capable of taking care of a simple through and through,” he hissed, temper flaring. With a grunt, he lifted Oswald carefully to begin wrapping his shoulder. “... He’s feverish,” he murmured after a moment of silence. 

Jonathan raised his hands in surrender. “I can at least help you with the fever.” 

They worked together, helping the young king of Gotham. Soon, they managed to get the wound under control and Oswald resting comfortably. Unable to do anything else, Edward offered Jonathan a drink. 

Jonathan took the whiskey, staring at the floor to avoid the obvious tension between them. He took a long sip of the drink, swirling the contents of the glass as he murmured, “So what are you going to tell him?” 

Edward looked over at the unconscious man on the sofa and shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. Hopefully, he doesn’t stab first and ask questions later. I’ve read the files on him, he’s a fascinating individual.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Yeah. He has quite the temper. You don’t need research to tell you that.” Jonathan brought a new cold, wet washcloth for Oswald’s fevered forehead. 

Edward chuckled softly as he brushed Oswald’s hair away from his face. “If he doesn’t wake soon, we’ll have to bathe him; he reeks,” he murmured, more to himself than the lanky psychologist looming above. 

“No way in hell are we stripping him,” Jonathan responded, imagining the trouble they’d be in if Oswald Cobblepot woke as they were bathing his naked body. 

Edward rolled his eyes with a scoff. “We cannot leave him in those clothes. I’ve already removed the shirt, but what if he has other injuries that need tending to?”

Jonathan sighed. Edward was right. “Let’s get this over with.” He placed his whiskey on a side table, crouching down next to the other man. Wincing, he delicately began removing the unconscious mobster’s pants. 

Edward began checking him over for injuries they might’ve missed, taking special care not to hurt his damaged right leg. The swollen ligaments and poorly healed breakage to the ankle made Edward curious. Just how much had this man suffered to achieve his ends?

Jonathan watched Edward care delicately for Oswald’s leg injury. “That bullet wound was nothing for him. He must be in constant agonizing pain.” The young man was filthy, and Jonathan admitted defeat: Oswald’s undergarments would have to be removed. 

“Sorry, Cobblepot,” he spoke to the unconscious man as he gently pulled the waistband down and diverted his gaze as respectfully as possible. Jonathan had noted earlier the mastectomy scars on Oswald’s chest as Edward had washed away the blood from his skin. As he checked the other man over for injuries, his theory was proven correct. Each man said nothing as they covered him once more, providing him with a set of Edward’s sweatpants and a blanket for the night. 

Once all was said and done, Edward himself had a drink as well. “It’s nearly dawn,” he noted, looking out the window at the smoggy Gotham skyline. “Thank you...for your help. I know I didn’t deserve it, sir.” 

Jonathan shook his head, a slight smirk appeared on his lips. “You didn’t. But you brought him here so I had no choice. I’d be a terrible mentor if I didn’t fix your mistakes.” He placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder.

Edward looked up at Jonathan with a soft smile. "I couldn't ask for a better mentor, or friend," he whispered, caution leaking into his voice at the last words. He knew Jonathan could easily shut him down again, and define their relationship solely on his terms. 

He knew that kiss had meant nothing to him, little that Edward remembered of it. 

Jonathan stayed silent, confusingly touched by Edward’s sentimentality. Jonathan froze mind hazy with the amount of alcohol he had imbibed; his hand was still on Ed’s shoulder, eyes locked with the younger man’s. Edward had the most amazing brown eyes. “Edward, what happened the other night was…” he paused. These feelings terrified him. 

He shook his head emphatically, cutting him off with a raised hand. "It's all right, sir. I understand. I was out of line, and it won't happen again." He downed his drink in one bitter gulp and stood from the sofa, walking away from Jonathan and the conversation at hand. He sat at his desk and began to work on refining Jonathan's delivery system. "I take it you were unable to get the chemicals we needed?"

Jonathan cleared his throat and downed the last of his current drink. “Obviously.” Jonathan moved to his desk and picked up the design for his mask. “I don’t intend on failing again.” 

Edward looked at the mask with a raised brow. "Interesting, should be terrifying once under the influence of your toxin. Why burlap?"

"S'like a scarecrow," he shrugged. "It's  _ scary _ ." 

Edward laughed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure it will be, Jonathan. You should get some rest, sir. I'll watch Cobblepot to see if his fever breaks." 

Unable to argue due to fatigue and intoxication the other man slumped in his desk chair and put his head down, falling into a fitful slumber. 

Edward watched both men, wondering what the new day had in store for them.


	7. Chapter 7

Edward watched over Oswald Cobblepot all morning, allowing Jonathan to sleep off the excess of drink he had consumed throughout the night. He monitored Oswald's temperature and changed his bandages when necessary, unable to rest as his mind seemed to refuse to relax. 

Around nine, as Edward had begun to cut out a pattern for Jonathan's ridiculous mask, Oswald began to stir. Softly, at first, and then with a squawk of indignation and pain, he tried to rise from the sofa. 

Edward was at his side in an instant, gentle hands upon his sides to try and still his movements. "Sir, please don't get up!"

"Where am I! What's going on!" he demanded, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

"Elevated heart rate and breathing are counter-productive to the healing process," Edward murmured, grabbing for a syringe of sedative. Cobblepot was stronger than he looked, even in such an injured state, and Edward was having a difficult time turning him to stick the syringe in safely. "Jonathan! A little help please!" he called. 

Jonathan jolted awake. He looked around and realized he’d fallen asleep at his desk, his cheek plastered with his own saliva. The commotion that had woken him was a struggle between Edward and Cobblepot, Edward armed with a syringe. 

“God damn it," he whispered under his breath, bolting to Edward’s side. He pinned Oswald down delicately so Edward could utilize the drugs safely. 

With Jonathan helping him to turn Oswald on his side Edward easily pushed the needle in, administering the sedative. Soon, Cobblepot fell back against the sofa, unconscious once more. Straightening up with a sigh, Edward turned to Jonathan. "Good morning, sir."

“Morning,” Jonathan sighed as well. “He didn’t take waking up here well, did he?” 

Edward laughed softly, shaking his head. “At least he didn’t stab me,” he replied with a smirk. “You would react poorly too given the circumstances, admit it.” 

“Fair,” Jonathan admitted with a shrug. “He might stab you when he wakes up. I bet he’ll be pretty pissed that you sedated him.”

“Either way, I’ll need to make sure he didn’t bleed through his bandages just now. I’ve already called out of work for the day, and as soon as Mr. Cobblepot is well enough to move, we'll be out of your hair. You won’t need to worry about him stabbing you if he’s at Grundy.” 

Jonathan paused, slightly irritated at Edward’s stony attitude. “I thought you wanted my help? I’m not going to use him as an experiment.” 

Edward had not even considered that, but now faced with Jonathan’s assurance he was unsure as to the other man’s motives. The former professor had no qualms about using  _ him _ to further his own ends, why should a notorious criminal be any different? “I did want your help, sir, but you’ve made it quite plain that your assistance only extends so far, and so I am taking my problems elsewhere so they don’t interfere with your work. I should have thought you would be happy with that.” 

Jonathan scowled. “The only reason I refused to help you was because you screwed me over.” Jonathan pretended to be more interested in his work desk. Idly, he shifted papers and test tubes, refusing to look the young man in the eye. “I thought you wanted my mentorship, but if you’d prefer someone else’s, then fine.”

Edward fought off a scoff of indignation. "I still wish to help you with your research, sir, but please understand I need to do this."

“Fine.” Jonathan angrily fussed with some beakers, feigning a distraction. He refused to sound like a jealous child. Jon wouldn’t allow one drunken slip to rule his emotions. It was clear Edward was nonchalant with the ordeal. The boy clearly was quite fickle with his emotions. “Go, then. Give me some peace and quiet.” 

"When he's able to be moved, we'll go," he replied softly, careful fingers rebandaging Oswald's wounds. He would need to go get supplies soon, and he was certain Jonathan had not eaten recently. "As it is, for now, I'll need to give you your peace and quiet regardless. At least for an hour or two. Do you think you could keep an eye on Cobblepot while I'm gone?"

“Uh huh,” Jonathan roughly placed the test tubes back into his centrifuge. Their loud clinks filled the awkward silence. “I’ve got enough sedative to keep your friend sleeping.” 

Edward put on his coat and made his way toward the door. "See you soon, sir. Thank you again." 

Jonathan waved Edward away, focused entirely on his work. He wasn't quite sure how long his work kept his attention, but suddenly he could hear a rustling from the sofa, a soft whine signalling the mobster's unrest. 

Oswald winced, groaning as he opened his eyes slowly. "Wh-where am I," he croaked? 

“You’re in my lab” Jonathan turned from his plans to stare at Oswald. “My partner found you begging for help in the woods.” He gestured to himself. “I’m your help.” 

Oswald's eyes widened as he looked around, the pain in his shoulder forgotten as a new fear settled into the pit of his stomach. "If you're going to kill me I'd prefer you just do it. There's nothing to be gained by this show."

Jonathan chuckled, delighted by the wide-eyed terror he seemed to inspire in the small villain. “With  _ your  _ reputation? Right. You’re wimpier than I expected, but you have friends in high places who could certainly kill me.” Jonathan grabbed a bottle of alcohol. “So forgive me if I don't fall for the twittering helpless act. Whiskey?” 

Oswald cocked his head as he took in the other man. He certainly didn't seem to  _ want _ anything, nor was he without intelligence. He took the offered whiskey with a murmured thanks. "Don't get out of the lab much, do you?" he asked with a raised brow. 

“Astute observation.” Jonathan laughed outright. He took a long sip of his drink. “I’m a busy man. I’m sure you relate.” 

"Yes," he answered evenly. Then asked, "What is it you do that keeps you so busy?" The room was nondescript, the sofa too far away from either desk to see their contents. Though Oswald could make out test tubes and beakers, he did not see any other medical supplies, indicating to him that this was not a place of torture, or healing. At least, not in any sense he had known before. 

“My experiments” Jonathan crouched down by the couch to be at eye level with Oswald. “Sorry Oswald. I’m a secretive man. I won’t share details.” Jonathan had a syringe at the ready in case Oswald became too inquisitive. 

Oswald backed into the cushions, face red with indignation. "If you sedate me again I swear!" 

Jonathan put his hand up silencing the loud-mouthed young mobster. “I won’t have to if you just relax. You can’t heal while working yourself into a snit.” 

The door clicked open, the rustle of plastic signalling Edward's return. "Jonathan, I managed to get-- oh, Mr. Penguin!" Edward dropped the bags, taking to Oswald's side in three ground-eating strides. "You're awake. Any residual pain?" He eyed the syringe in Jonathan's hand, frowning. "What's going on?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes and stood up to make room for Ed. “I was just taking care of Mr. Cobblepot like you asked.” He returned to his desk, pouring more into his glass. “Didn’t want him to get too fussy.” 

"He threatened to sedate me," Oswald complained immediately, sensing tension between the two men that he could easily exploit to his advantage. 

“We  _ both  _ sedated you before in case you’ve forgotten.” Jonathan crosses his arms, determined to stop Oswald from manipulating the situation. 

"All right, enough," Edward sighed. "Mr. Penguin, you were injured pretty severely by a high calibre weapon and we've been taking care of you to the best of our ability, but we are not trained medical professionals, nor is this a hospital. You definitely should not be having this," he plucked the whiskey from his hands and set it out of reach, turning to glare once more at Jonathan before returning his attention to the injured man pouting on the sofa. 

Oswald scowled as the whiskey was taken. The two men seemed more intelligent than the lot he was accustomed to dealing with, and after his most recent downfall he was not in the mood for two spindly and entitled scientists. "Well, if I can't have that I trust there's something else here to stave off this incredible pain?" he asked with a saccharine tone. 

“One drink won’t kill him.” Jonathan rolled his eyes. He swiped the glass from Edward’s hand and refilled it for the mobster. “If you’d been shot, you too would want liquid courage. He’s our guest, where’s your hospitality?” Jonathan smirked as he handed Oswald back the glass. The look on Edward's face was worth whatever recriminations came later. 

Edward huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're a  _ chemist! _ " 

Oswald took a sip of the liquor, savouring it only for a moment before it was snatched away once more by the bickering couple. Edward knelt beside him, pulling another syringe from the pack and sticking him with morphine before either could protest further. 

"No more alcohol or you could kill him."

Oswald sighed in relief as his pain abated far faster than the whiskey could have alleviated it. " _ Much _ better, thank you." He looked up at the tall brunet. "I know you…" 

"Ed... Nygma. We met at the G.C.P.D."

"You're not a cop…"

He laughed. "Oh no, I work in forensics." 

Jon snatched the glass out of Edward’s hand once more, this time keeping it for himself. He observed Edward and Oswald’s interaction, not able to stifle a laugh at the thought of Edward Nygma being a cop. 

Edward turned his attention to Jonathan, a smirk on his lips at Jon's amusement. 

"So what is it you want, exactly? Not that I'm not grateful you saved me, but…"

"Do you believe in fate?" Edward asked with a grin, stepping closer. 

Jonathan cocked his head at Edward’s sentimentality. Where was he going with this? “You’re a scientist, Edward. And I doubt Mr. Cobblepot believes in fate either,” Jonathan interrupted. 

Edward flushed angrily at Jonathan's dismissal. Oswald on the other hand was looking around the small space, inspecting the sofa, the blanket, himself. "Where are my clothes?" he demanded.

“I wanted to burn them, but Edward insisted that was a terrible idea," Jonathan shrugged. “Pardon me, but you wreaked.”

Oswald looked down, shrugging. He didn't need to justify himself to the slender man. 

While they squabbled, Edward went over to the bags and began to unpack. Once done, he returned to Oswald's side with a cup of water in hand. "You need to keep hydrated, Mr. Penguin, prolonged outdoor exposure can have lasting damage, especially since you were already wounded…"

“Alright, Edward. Give the poor man some room. He can’t rest if you keep fussing over him.” Jonathan did not enjoy watching Edward care so attentively for another person. Not when they could be working on other more important endeavours; the young man seemed to be terminally distracted. 

Oswald smirked. Perhaps it would be easier than expected to undermine the two men and make his escape. He turned wide blue eyes up at Edward as he took the water, hoping to ingratiate himself to the kinder of the two. 

"As I said, sir, as soon as he's well enough to travel, we'll be out of your hair," Edward replied to Jonathan, smiling as Oswald accepted his offering. He seemed more receptive than Jonathan had, more open to helping Edward. 

Jonathan’s teeth clenched as Edward smiled gently at the injured man. He hated his feelings towards Edward. Hated that he enjoyed someone’s company. Hated that he had allowed the boy so close after years of keeping everyone at arm's length. “Like I said," he bit out, "I’m sure Oswald has much to teach you about _petty_ _crimes_. You can take your self-discovery bullshit elsewhere.” 

"Is  _ that _ what you're after?" Oswald asked, turning a sharp blue gaze toward Edward. 

"Do you remember earlier when I mentioned fate?" 

Oswald raised a brow, entirely unimpressed with the two men. 

Edward ploughed on, determined to make it through despite Oswald's expression of disinterest, or Jonathan's active cruelty. "Recently I've been going through a sort of change…"

Jonathan scoffed.

"I've started murdering people, and I was hoping that, unlike my partner, you'd be more receptive to helping me down this new path. You see, I like who I'm becoming, and I'd like to explore this new avenue rather than suppress it!" 

Oswald sighed heavily, looking the man up and down before speaking. "How many people?"

"Three in total… two of them I didn't really care for, but one was my girlfriend, Ms. Kringle. She was the love of my life." The last part was directed solely at Jonathan, brown eyes locking with the other man's. He could be hurtful too if that's how the psychologist wanted to play it.

Jonathan saw red. “I have been nothing  _ but  _ supportive!” he growled. “And ‘love of my life’ my ass. You went on a few dates. It was puppy love. Next lesson, don’t lie to a mobster. I doubt Mr. Cobblepot kills without reason.” 

"I've killed men on two separate occasions for a sandwich," Oswald rejoined, smirking. 

Edward laughed outright. 

Jonathan rolled his eyes and stomped back to his work bench. “Just a match made in heaven, I guess. Don’t interrupt my work.” 

Oswald turned his attention back to the more pleasant of the two, certain he could get more out of him than he could Jonathan. "Is there anything to eat? And maybe a more comfortable sleeping arrangement? I can feel my bones grinding against each other..."

"If you feel able, Mr Penguin, we can move to my apartment. It might be a little more comfortable than this. There will be more food and a bed for you to rest in."

Jonathan sat at his work bench, resting his head in his hand. He would let Edward go. The two of them seemed more amicable. Jonathan was barely social, never mind mentor material. He just waved his hand in faux agreement. Perhaps if they left he could actually concentrate instead of being destroyed by his feelings. 

Edward packed up his things, and saw Oswald down to the car. Before the last trip down he hesitated in the doorway, wanting to apologise once more for inconveniencing Jonathan. The other man seemed far too engrossed in his work, and so he quietly shut the door and left without a word. 


	8. Chapter 8

Edward managed to get Oswald up to his apartment with no interference, and now the injured man was resting comfortably in his bed. He gave him another small dose of morphine and was just beginning to check over his bandages, his mind categorizing which questions he wished to ask Oswald first. 

Oswald was burrowing comfortably into his new accommodations, finding the bed much more agreeable than the unevenly stuffed couch he had been previously resting upon. The morphine was providing soothing, warm comfort to his aching body, brain pleasantly fuzzy as he watched Edward work absently.    
  
"Ow," he said peevishly as Edward added another layer of tape to secure the edges of a section of bandaging; he was as petulant as a child, closed off and pouting.

Edward raised a brow as Oswald fussed. "You're quite weak for a crime lord," he dared to tease.

Oswald stuck out his lower lip in a tired pout, sulking back against the pillow with a low sigh. "Have you ever been shot?"

"Thankfully not, but I've seen enough gun wounds to know how they behave. Have you ever been shot...before this?"

"Shot at, yes... Shot, no. Though surprisingly less painful than having your leg broken with a metal bat."

Edward's eyes widened, immediately trailing down to the space under the blanket that hid Oswald's mangled ankle. Innately curious as he was he raised a hand to lift the blanket, thinking better of it only at the last moment as Oswald began to speak again. 

"Plus my ears have been ringing since Jim Gordon fired his gun beside my head and threw me in the river... though I suppose I'm fortunate it wasn't fired  _ into  _ my head..." his words slurred together slightly, blue eyes crossing occasionally as he fought to focus on Edward.

Edward's eyes sparkled as he shifted closer. "I remember when you made your appearance at the GCPD after that. It was amazing, sir!"

Oswald smiled. "Was it? I had hoped so… It was a new outfit." He found it endearing that the man was sticking to the term of respect so diligently.

"It was transformative," he murmured. "And that outfit was rather fetching."

Oswald seemed pleased by his answer, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"Should I let you rest, sir. I'm sorry..."

Oswald managed to shake his head slowly. "Stay, I'll fall asleep eventually." Though he wouldn't admit it even on the pain of death, Oswald liked the presence of the young man beside him. The comfortable warmth of the weight of him in the bed reminded him that he was not as alone as he feared, and as he shut his eyes he could almost pretend she was beside him once more, whispering words of comfort and safety for her precious boy. 

Edward smiled and stayed by the man's side until he fell asleep. As the mobster rested, his face twisted in pain and anguish, and Edward wondered what sort of monsters would frighten The Penguin. He watched over him and was grateful he had taken him away from Jonathan. He knew without a doubt the other man would grow curious and begin to experiment on him.

Oswald awoke with an appetite and renewed sense of self, though his body still ached. As he slowly chewed the offered toast, he began his investigation of Edward. Information, no matter how insignificant it might seem, had value. "So you work with the police department and they haven't realized you're a murderer?"

Edward grinned behind his teacup, eyes sparkling. "I'm far cleverer than I look."

"That and I can't imagine they're terribly intelligent compared to you." Edward valued his intelligence, and it was tied directly to his ego- that was immediately clear.

He beamed, adjusting his glasses to hide his pleased flush. "I think only Jim is smart enough to catch on and he's got his hands full elsewhere."

"Harvey certainly isn't doing him any favors," he quipped with a faint smirk, noting how easily the other man was affected by praise. "Speaking of partners, how did you meet Mr. Crane?" he asked with interest. Oswald was curious if there was a marked advantage to befriending the prickly scientist.

"I've known him for years," he replied with a grin. "He was my professor in college."

"Were you present for the gun incident?" He chortled, recalling the newspaper headline. Truthfully Oswald knew very little about the professor, save for what was reported in the media. He didn't work with others so there was almost no information available regarding his skill-sets.

He shook his head. "That was after my time at Gotham U~ I'm surprised someone of your caliber heard about that!"

Oswald was flattered by the compliments his rescuer readily supplied. "I'm a collector of knowledge~" he replied, hooked nose disappearing into his coffee mug as he took a deep sip. 

"Have you been assisting with his studies?"

"He told you about those?" Edward whispered.

"Well I could only assume he must be working on something, given his accommodations- I assume the lab belonged to him. Between you and me, this apartment is much more comfortable."

He laughed softly and nodded. "Technically the lab belongs to a dead man, I didn't want it tied to either of us should things go south. Though it is his lab, I stole all the equipment and set the space up..."

"Aren't you a hard worker~" Oswald praised. "Cooking up something fun then, are you?"

"I wouldn't say  _ fun _ ," he laughed. "His brand of fun is rather...strange."

"What's in it for you?" 

Edward looked down, adjusting his glasses. He looked sad for a moment and rather small, like a child. "All of my life people have been underestimating me, belittling me...but Jonathan understands that there is more to me. That I have potential."

Oswald smiled, yellow teeth peeking between dull pink lips. "Of course you have more potential! You'll waste away working for the GCPD without a single Thank You..."

Edward flushed, bright and pink and handsome. "You think so?"

Oswald nodded insistently. "They're useless, surely you know that by now," he chuckled, still alive and breathing.

He laughed and nodded. "I wanted to do good when I moved to Gotham, but I fear I'm ineffectual."

"Good is less black and white than you'd expect in Gotham," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sometimes in order to make real change for good you have to be willing to do some bad things, but in the end, it will be better for the city that way."

"That's why Jim hates you. He's not willing to make the utilitarian choice. It's a matter of philosophical morality for him. Fascinating!"

Oswald smirked. "Jim isn't willing to accept this city needs more than a flimsy police force, and more than that ditz of a mayor..." despite his initial plans to abandon his work in Gotham, the urge to rule was creeping in once more.

"Jim means well..."

"Jim pushed me in the river," he groused, refilling his coffee cup. "If he could just turn a blind eye- I had nearly the entire department backed into a corner until the good old boy showed up and threw a wrench in everything by having a conscience..."

"Jim didn't shoot you," he reminded with a smirk. "But I agree, his boy scout routine is a bit tired."

"Tell that to my tinnitus."

Oswald yawned, resting his pointed chin firmly against a closed fist as he gave Edward another cursory glance.

Edward laughed softly. "Are your ears ringing right now?"

"They're always sort of ringing, but it gets worse in one ear from time to time. A hazard of the occupation I suppose," he wrinkled his nose, tapping his left ear.

Edward scooted forward in the bed. "May I try something, Mr. Penguin?" he asked softly, holding out his hands

Oswald raised an eyebrow, but nodded; the eccentric man wouldn't have gone to so much trouble keeping him safe if he intended to harm him. "Go ahead."

Edward cupped Oswald's cheeks, long fingers reaching behind to rest against the soft skin over his occipital lobe. The butt of his palms pressed against his ears, and he knew the ringing must be very loud indeed as the other man winced and then glared at him. He drummed against the underside of the lobe, alleviating the ringing nearly immediately.

A faint flush crossed his cheeks at the close proximity, ears wailing for a moment before the other man's mysterious drumming ceased the whine. "How did you do that?"

"I alleviated some suboccipital pressure," he replied softly, sitting back with a smile. "It won't cure it forever, but it should help for an hour or two."

"Oh... Thank you," he smiled faintly, impressed. "I don't suppose you have any tricks for my leg?"

"I might, but it'll be painful."

Oswald shrugged, "you have more of that lovely stuff in the syringe?"

"I do, but I can't help if your muscles are too relaxed already." He pulled the blanket up off his leg and began to gently rub his calf.

Oswald winced but said nothing as Edward's fingers ran the length of his battered muscles.

He began to apply more and more pressure, working the gnarled muscles and ligaments. He felt tension and knots begin to give way, and slowly he was able to turn the ankle, flexing the taut muscle.

Oswald's brow furrowed, gritting his teeth as the pain increased steadily, pounding a closed fist against the mattress with a hiss. "If this doesn't help I'm going to hurt you."

Edward nodded in understanding and smiled as he showed Oswald his straightened foot. Oswald would most likely never walk normally again, but Edward could help correct some of the damage that had been done, the rest would need a surgeon. 

"... I still sort of want to hurt you, but that is impressive. I don't think my ankle has straightened out since Fish broke it. So, I thank you," Oswald murmured gratefully, feeling much better.

"If you would allow me to, I could continue to stretch the muscles daily. I can't promise that you won't still have a slight limp, but I can definitely alleviate the swelling and pain."

Edward stood and went over to the table, lifting a green wrapped box with a smile. "I might be gone for a while tonight, but I should be back before midnight."

"Up to something fun?" He queried curiously.

He smiled as he looked down at the present, running his fingers over the ribbon. "An apology, actually, for doctor Crane."

"Precious."

His sarcasm was palpable, but he was admittedly curious about their dynamic. "Did you hurt his feelings~?"

He flinched and looked over at Oswald. "I wasn't there for him when I should've been."

"I didn't realize you were so close," he murmured, noting Edward's expression. It was a curious dynamic, to say the least.

"I'm certain Jonathan doesn't feel the same, but..." He didn't know how to express in words how he felt about Jonathan. He was a mentor, but Edward felt closer to him than that, not quite a fondness, and so he settled on "He's a good friend. And lately, I haven't been one to him."

"Well I certainly had it wrong," he chuckled softly, endeared by the soft brown eyes and forlorn expression on the other man's face. 

"What do you mean?" he asked with a raised brow

"Pardon me for being forward, but I had assumed from your interactions you were seeing each other," Oswald tittered softly.

"Oh...you mean romantically? No," he laughed, more a nervous exhalation of air than anything else. "No. Jonathan is not interested in men, believe me."

"And you?"

The question hung in the air with a pointed intensity as Oswald allowed his curious libido to get the best of him; he had seen Edward in his white undershirts and boxer shorts, and it certainly couldn't hurt to coax the handsome specimen of man a little closer.

At least that's what he told himself, anyway. Oswald had never had much luck in the department of romance, despite his mother's worry that he would be carted off by a "hussy" someday. Still, he did love to window shop.

He blinked, unsure. "Oh...I, er, that is to say, I suppose it doesn't matter, really. Does that make sense? I've never much cared for outer appearances."

Oswald seemed pleased enough by the answer, settling back against the mattress with a low groan. "Well, don't let me keep you."

He grinned and gave a curious little wave before trotting out the door.

Edward returned to the lab; he entered quietly, not wishing to disturb the other man should he be working on a dangerous experiment. 

Jonathan slept on the worn-out couch in his lab. He spent the nights after Edward and Oswald’s departure sleepless. He kept his mind busy with his newest experiments, having grabbed a few sleeping homeless men from downtown. His new batch of toxin proved to be less potent. He had to dump his only slightly hysterical test subjects back where he found them before the effects wore off completely. 

Edward smiled as he found Jonathan on the sofa, an arm slung over his eyes to block out the light. He looked at the spindly man fondly as he walked over. Clearing his throat, his warm brown eyes took in his ragged clothes and unkempt hair. He was clearly not taking care of himself. 

Jonathan startled awake. He looked around the room, grabbing for the large syringe that lived on the side table. “Get out-! Jesus Edward!” Jonathan noticed Edward staring at him as his eyes darted wildly around the room. He took a deep breath and sat up. “What are you doing?”

Edward jumped back, giving a startled yelp as Jonathan sprung forward. "Goodness, Jonathan, it's me!"

“Yeah, I can see that," Jonathan groaned and stretched from his place on the couch. He looked at his watch. He’d been sleeping for eleven and a half hours. “What do you need?” 

"What I need the poor have, the rich need, and if you eat it you'll die~" he grinned, moving over to his desk to set several parcels down. 

“Nothing.” Jonathan stood up, slightly confused. He’d assumed the nature of their relationship would forever remain give and take. Jonathan had very little else to give at this point, and Edward's voracious need for simulation would always take. Perhaps it was best to let the boy go to Cobblepot. Deeper waters, deeper pockets, higher stakes. “Then why are you here? How’s Penguin?” 

"Oswald's fine," he replied, turning with a green present in his hands. The paper glittered off the low light in the room. "But I suspect you truly don't care about how Oswald's doing, sir." He held out the gift with a soft, hopeful smile. "I brought this for you, as a small apology."

Jonathan silently took the gift, unsure of a response. “I...you didn’t have to. Really.” Jonathan met his eyes with his own. It was as much of an apology and thank you, Edward could receive. He ripped the shiny green paper to reveal the box beneath. 

Inside the box was a burlap mask, a perfect replica of Jonathan's Scarecrow design, gas mask sewn in against the lining of the mouth, large stitch work around the lips lent a chilling detail, and the hollow dark mesh-fabric eyes were backed by fiberglass which would allowed Jonathan coverage as well as protection from the chemicals he worked with. Edward had seen to it all. "Is it all right, sir?"

Jonathan picked up the mask delicately. “Edward, this is perfect. Thank you.” He feared his expression was that of a child on Christmas. He quickly dropped the box and placed the mask over his head. It fit exceptionally well, it was as breathable and functional as he intended. “How does it look?” 

Edward grinned from ear to ear. "Terrifying, truly!" He was so happy that Jonathan liked his gift. He had been so afraid his friendship with the other man had been compromised by his foolishness.

Jonathan took the mask off, placing it carefully on his workbench. Edward certainly had a way of making him feel like he had a heart. He assumed after their disagreements and the way in which Edward had been reacting to him that Edward would still be cold. Jonathan didn’t deserve his kindness. “I was too rough on you,” he mumbled. 

"I was a bad pupil, and a bad friend," he smiled softly, stepping closer. 

“Mistakes were made.” Jonathan nodded, meeting Edward’s eyes. “I’d like for you to still assist me. If you want.” 

He grinned, deep brown eyes warm and happy. "I would like that very much, sir." He stepped closer again, fingers brushing against Jonathan's wrist. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched. He watched Edward’s long fingers against his skin. He wanted this. He did. But the to and fro of the way Edward approached him lately made him apprehensive. “Ed…” he sighed, resting his own hand on top of Edward’s fingers. “Don’t play like this unless you mean it.” 

"What do you mean, Jonathan?" he asked softly. "You're the one who keeps pushing me away."

“You’ve been cold. You’re not usually like that.” Jonathan shrugged, not moving his hand. “That’s my thing.” 

He laughed, raising his hand to cup Jonathan's cheek. "Perhaps this mentorship is working after all," he teased. 

Jonathan froze, his cheeks growing warm. “Drunken kiss, my ass," Jonathan smirked, patting Edward’s hand. He pulled away quickly, returning his attention to his mask. 

Edward flushed a dull red, the colour touching the tips of his ears, trailing down over his chest making him feel hot and ashamed. As Jonathan turned away from him, he took a moment to compose himself before going over to his desk to begin looking over his research. "I see you've developed a new formula." 

Jonathan sighed, turning the mask over in his hands. His latest failure didn’t make him feel quite deserving of this gift. “It was a distraction built on a hunch. Didn’t work out.” 

"It looks like you added too much ethyl acetate, making your toxin too acidic and it burned through the bloodstream too quickly. Your formulae were off." He adjusted his glasses and turned back to Jonathan with a soft smirk.

Jonathan frowned, his pride dwindling as he took a closer look at his formula components. He had been so distracted. The measurements were slightly off. He huffed. “It seems I did. That was a dumb mistake. I’d like you to assist me again.”

He grinned, dark eyes twinkling at the prospect of working closely with Jonathan again. "Shall we get to work?"


End file.
